Jimmy showed me how to text on this iPhone, but I’m having a hard time hitting the right buttons.
Me: im sorty
Shit.
Me: sorry
Me: Fot leaving like that
Fuck.
Me: For
Jesus. It’s quicker and easier just to call, which I would’ve done if she’d had an early shift. She doesn’t. I may have driven by the diner earlier, when I took one of the cars we were working on today out for a test drive. That was around three and I caught sight of her new SUV in the parking lot. It hadn’t been there ten minutes prior, the first time I drove past.
What does that say about me? That I almost run out of her house in an attempt to get away only to stalk her work, eager for a glimpse. Fucking pathetic, that’s what it is.
Me: Dinner was food
Me: good
Disgusted, both with this stupid texting and my sorry self, I shove the phone under my pillow and swing my legs out of bed.
I pull open the fridge and pull out a carton of eggs, some bacon, cheese, and mushrooms to make an omelet. My almost daily fare. Hard to cook much more on a small two-burner hotplate, but I don’t mind. I’ll never get enough of fresh-cooked food. Not like the partially congealed stuff we were fed inside.
I’ve just cracked the third egg in the small bowl when I hear a muffled ping from the bed. I drop the shell in the tiny sink and grab a towel to wipe my hands, as I dive for my phone. All I see on the screen is Robin’s name and only a few words.
Robin: Glad you…
I stab at the message to make it bigger but instead it’s asking for my passcode. I’ve punched it in without thinking enough times by now, but for the life of me, I can’t get it right now. I’m growling in frustration when at my third try, the phone finally unlocks and I see her full message.
Robin: Glad you liked it. Nothing to be sorry for. It’s fine.
It’s fine.
I don’t know a whole lot about women, but I know ‘it’s fine’ is a euphemism for ‘you fucked up good.’
Sinking down on the bed, I start typing out a message, this time reading it back before sending. I hesitate, a heavy feeling settling on my shoulders, and I use the back button to delete every last word, dropping the phone facedown on the mattress and heading back to my eggs.
Perhaps it’s best this way.
Chapter Nine
Robin
“I’m sorry, Dr. Tracey is running behind a few minutes,” his assistant apologizes when we walk into the clinic. “He’ll be with you as soon as he can.”
“No problem,” Mom returns, and walks ahead to the waiting area.
The clinic houses three doctors, so I’m surprised to see the only other person in there is a young guy with earbuds in, probably listening to music on the phone his eyes are glued to.
“Good,” Mom says, as soon as my ass hits the seat beside her. “That gives me a chance to ask you about your dinner last week. How was it?”
I’m not surprised. I may have distracted her with a funny work story Paige told me over the weekend, but Mom is as tenacious as a terrier and nosy to boot. Still, I don’t want to talk about Gray, have done my best this past week not to think of him either, although I haven’t been very successful. It hasn’t helped that the rumor mill has been alive and well at Over Easy.
I was working a shift with Donna earlier this week. The woman is older than my mother, but still works harder than some of the part-timers we have. She mentioned ‘that Bennet boy’ and that neither time nor prison had made him any less handsome than he used to be.
Finding that out hadn’t surprised me as much as one might think. Gray struck me as someone a little out of touch, maybe even unsure of his footing, and definitely socially awkward. Someone who seems to be tentatively testing out the world around him, but when he relaxed—as he had over dinner—he really came into his own.
That is until I kissed him. That is not something I’m about to share with my mother.
“It was nice. I still can’t make my goulash taste the way yours does.” I try for distraction wrapped in flattery. “Why is that?”
“Always tastes better when someone else cooks it. So, tell me more about this friend of yours.”
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let go.
“I already told you last week.”
“You’re being purposely evasive,” she accuses.
“And doesn’t that tell you something?” I snap, surreptitiously glancing at the woman by the front desk and the young man sitting three seats down from Mom. Both seem engrossed in whatever it is they’re doing.
“I just want to see you happy, sweetheart.” She puts a hand on my arm, and I immediately feel guilty for being short with her.
I soften my earlier sharp retort with a smile. “I know you do, Mom, but I don’t think Gray is the answer.”
“Why do you say that?” she asks, just as someone comes out of Dr. Tracey’s office on the other side of reception.
“Mrs. Bishop?” The woman behind the desk stands up and grabs a file. “If you would come with me?”
I hold no illusions my mother will let the subject drop, but for now I have a reprieve.
I force my thoughts to the diner, where Kim apparently finally hired a new full-time waitress, who is scheduled to start on the weekend. It isn’t easy in a town this size to find someone, so she ended up putting out some feelers in neighboring communities. Donna and I have been taking on extra shifts to cover for Shirley missing, but Kim’s had to fill in
